


Don't take that sinner from me

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotions, F/M, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15320067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Abraxas always remembers his wedding night, but not for the reasons he should.





	Don't take that sinner from me

**Author's Note:**

> It's so late at night that it's now morning so forgive whatever this is that I've written.

Abraxas had many memories of his wedding day. The most expensive wedding in history, no expense had been spared. They said his bride was the most beautiful witch in England, they said her dress was embroidered with a thousand flowers, and the diamond tiara she wore was worth almost as much as everything else put together. They said they ate off plates that could have belonged to royalty, and ate dishes so rare most people had never heard of them, and drank wine from eras no one could remember but could have paid for a family to live in luxury forever.  
They said so many things about the beauty, the lavish excess, the prestige of a Malfoy wedding. The wedding of the century. The wedding of the millennium. The flowers that could have filled a garden, the guests, every one of them infinitely rarer than the last, the rings, one still on his finger, gold, engraved, covered in diamonds. It was stunning, awe-inspiring, an elaborate illustration of what it meant to be a Malfoy. But Abraxas remembered next to nothing of that.  
He remembered Tom. Staying up late the night before, staring at each other. The air between them had been so tense for so long. Tom charged and waiting for the spark that would set him alight and show everything he was. Abraxas sick, his stomach twisting over spending the rest of his life with a girl he barely knew. They just looked at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence, to shatter the stillness and cause a collision they could sense was coming.  
Neither of them did.  
Abraxas had fallen asleep lying next to his best friend, not touching, just lying next to each other thinking about everything that could have been.  
He didn’t remember his wife walking down the aisle, only the grounding look in Tom’s eyes. His lips forming words Abraxas was too nervous to hear but were still reassuring. Tom was everything he should have been: he nodded through the service, clapped when they kissed, smiled in the photographs, was polite to his mother and charming to everyone else.  
But there was something cold in his eyes, not the usual cruelty Abraxas had come to expect, more like sadness, a deep longing that had never been fulfilled. Perhaps it was his wishful imagination, but it seemed so clear to him. It was the same expression Tom had had as they lay together on the bed the night before. That sad, lost gaze that showed more emotion than Abraxas had seen Tom show anyone in the last ten years. Lying there in the dark Tom had said the marriage wouldn’t change anything, but that implied there was something between them to change.  
There had never been, until his wedding night. One of those sacred, special time he was meant to be with his new wife. The word had felt so foreign on his tongue. A marriage so young had never been what he wanted, nor what she wanted, but it was what they had, barely twenty and already tied to everything his parents had prized. It felt too young to be bound to anyone forever, the feeling had gnawed at him. He had wanted to run, to leave that alter and go, leave for anywhere and never come back. He wanted to see the world, taste every pleasure known the man, laugh with strangers and fall in love a thousand times. He wanted to spend money, he wanted to be reckless, forget who he was for a day, for a month, for a year. Live in anonymity doing whatever he wanted forever.  
But he was married, and responsibilities were heavy on his mind. Dark, crushing thoughts that filled him with butterflies and twisted his stomach.  
Abraxas never spoke to his wife about their wedding night. The time to be alone together, to discover themselves, find the equilibrium that would have to keep them balanced forever. That first night to spend side by side, lips on lips, skin on skin. Making love as husband and wife.  
Except Abraxas had never loved his wife like that on their wedding night. He couldn’t remember how it came to happen or why it had happened then, but Tom had been simmering for so long, never daring to touch the things that weren’t his, never touching anything, that something had had to happen eventually.  
He remembered dancing with his wife. Smiling at each other because there were guests watching so intently, trying to speculate as to whether they were really in love. He remembered kissing her softly like she was a delicate flower and the slightest touch would make her elaborate petals fall to her feet, and reveal all she didn’t want the world to see. He remembered leaving her with her maid of honour. He remembered stumbling outside for a minute. The rooms were so filled with artificiality, the fake glances, the insincere whispers. He remembered sitting on the water fountain looking up at the stars. He remembered wanting to cry, wanting to scream and howl and sob, he wanted to leave; go find the place where he could be the person he wanted to be, but he couldn’t so he had sat looking at the stars.  
He remembered Tom sitting beside him. He could feel the magic crackling around Tom like a fire was burning under his skin. He’d cast off whatever had been restricting him and now he was free, careless, impulsive. He remembered Tom kissing him as if it was the end of the world. Ten years of feeling released in a single moment. With Tom, kissing had felt sacred, something angels did in the dark when no one saw.  
He remembered the scent of Tom’s neck as he pushed him against the bed. They’d kissed then more times than Abraxas cared to think. They’d stripped each other to see what rawness lay beneath. He’d seen Tom more exposed and vulnerable than he’d ever been before, his hallowed body open to all the worship in the world. A starry sky of freckles sheened with sweat, each offered a new possibility, a new hope that Abraxas dared to dream he could find.  
They’d been so close, forehead to forehead, lips to lips, fingers interlocking; a tangled mess of limbs, so close for fear of being separated. He remembered with devastating clarity every line of Tom’s face, every hair and every freckle, he could draw them even now. He was an angel, condemned to purgatory.  
Abraxas had never needed someone so much, never wanted someone how he’d wanted Tom. They were so quiet together, a tranquil silence, punctuated only by the sounds of a sacred act, and never by words, tongues couldn’t make sense of emotions that transcended humanity. He had wanted to touch every part of Tom, remind himself he wasn’t alone, no matter how lonely he felt, there was someone who seemed to understand, just for a minute.  
He didn’t spare a thought for his wife, a selfish craving for fulfilment kept him with away. Kept him breathless in bed with someone else, kept him chasing a lost feeling of innocence, chasing a virtue that had long been corrupted, chasing an empyrean dream that he could never reach.  
Abraxas’ trembling fingers had held Tom, his breath ragged, so dry, words clogged his throat. Tom’s voice cracked when he came, and just for a moment, he let Abraxas see everything: the light and the darkness that festered within him. Abraxas held him closer. They needed each other to continue, they needed each other to survive.  
Lying beside Tom, Abraxas should have felt filthy, disgusted at himself, at what he had done but Abraxas had felt sanctified. For the first time in his life, he was not drowning, he was not lost in the swirling storm of money and parties and trivial acquaintances. He was grounded, his hands firmly on another living body, a body that would always guide him no matter how far he strayed. Tom was his star, his Polaris, guiding him even in the darkest nights.  
They lay side by side, staring into each other’s eyes and still, they didn’t speak, but only because there were no words left to say.  
Abraxas had cried later while watching the stars. Tom was asleep, tangled in the sheets like a rent boy. He’d cried for his past and he’d cried for his future. He watched the stars disappear and the sun rise as it always did. The world continued, and Abraxas had gone to breakfast. 

They found each other too late, and all Abraxas had now was a wife and a son and a memory of a wedding night he reminisced about for all the wrong reasons.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the entire vibe of this comes from song Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars.
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions for future fics, please comment, i am completely out of ideas. Thanks.


End file.
